Avast ye Obama-philes of the Orange Hinterlands, and hello as well. Many a long year I have sailed the Seven Seas (as well as the Great Lakes and the Great Salt Lake of Utah, and certain lesser known rivers and creeks in the Middle-west of North American, as well as WaterFunLand Orlando, FL!), and over these long, salty, and somewhat gamey years, many an election I've voted in. I voted for Hamilton, Garfield, Helmut Kohl, Martin Sheen and a chihuahua named "Sir Isaac Fig Newton," but never once have I seen the fairy-dust fervor of cult-like hope that surrounds this "Obama."
Like a sultry breeze from Greenland did he happen on this election, unexpected by all serious Pirates (in good standing with the Association of Seafaring Pirates). For who among us had ever heard of such a thing, a skinny man whose speech is noticed at a Democratic convention years and dust gone by and answers to such a peculiar name as "Barack Hussein Obama?" And the daftness of such an unknown and untested wet-behind-ears amateur with barely a few years in the Senate, and a few more than that as a community organizer and constitutional scholar, setting his sites on Fair Hillary's just reward. Did he not see that the winds of history had already filled her bloomers with the Zephyr of Invevitability?
My email tells that Obama is a Muslim, but I know him for a foul Carribbean necromancer; but for who else could make so many of the young and hopeful vote for him but a man who speaks with the dead? And who else but a necromancer could woo Republicans without first bathing in the Bloody Baptism of the Bushites?
Many of his cult of necromancers have spoken to his policies and speeches, but I have heard of them not. Surely, though I am blind in one eye, illiterate, have ancient bungs of ear-wax plugging my ears, refuse to read his "webpage" and am lazy to boot, I would learn of these things from the song of the ocean. But the ocean has not told me of Obama's policies, so I know them to be nothing but dragons, myths and mermaids.
And let me lay to rest now the other rumour, so foul, of faeries and mermaids who would rather vote for Sir John McCain of the 100 Years War than vote for Hillary, for these are not but anecdotal persons. Just yesterday I met such a young woman, and when she told me of her misgivings I responded
"I will tell you, young lass, what I told the last 20 anecdotal people who told me they couldn't support Hillary: You are an anecdote, no more real than a giant squid!"
And silent that anecdotal lass became, and silent as the ocean floor she will stay. So speak to me not of your anecdotes, for they are like fish in the sea.
giant squid